A great knocking in me
and I am down, I am wood.
Hopes have to be settled on shore,
but the water being almost
at low water, fear is sure.
I urge the surgeon on,
my heart heavy for not hearing my heart.
Things against my going:
the rain, a great deal of paper,
the wind in the marsh. Oy.
I chose the saddest color
for a melancholy mother
and had a fear I should see
my house full of swords.
I am too afraid
of any vice
too late to give her
that old gone heaven
I dine on a breast of mutton
all alone in the dark
without prejudice to mine
who would the great leaders punish
fear is a game
poor people examined
as suspected persons
that they pitch upon to torture
our mother crow
in a strange hour
commanded to ask who we were
her face full
of black rain
like poison for a rook
a scallop is absurd for ears
and delicate of heart
it heard an alarm and clapped
only to go
so I bless God but fear
my candle going out
fear is an ambassador
knocking on every stair
nightgown and slippers
go as a soldier of the wind
up against this ill
wool of a night
I eat alone with haste
night and other night
in nature there is great variety
but in fear, a home
I fear the open street.
There is above my office door
a calf’s head
and we put up in the cellar
a silk flag I found in the dirt,
a key I found in the fire.
my fear is
ready to hand
and concise
like a stone
to carry when
one travels
or a castle of ink
for the best
pit I know
We turn to the forest
(and other things
worth knowing
by not knowing)
to look our full
at all we fear,
our estate like a bauble
bought with trouble,
mind a pair of compasses
to walk home.
Alone, he is a castle keep,
still with fear:
will love find him
in a lie, saying
that it was the same outside
as with a lock and a state…
Our work was art,
we gave meat to the poor
but the best gates of the town shut
for fear of the town—
a design to prevent tomorrow,
that we might err.